The people who are still with me

For this column, I am introducing another of my sayings I find myself telling people all the time:

“It is a historical fact, nobody has beaten death.”

Whether the words are original from my mind or not, the meaning of it is pretty accurate.

Writing a column on death is intimidating and all week long, I agonized on how to approach the subject. The reason I decided to attempt even trying was that the beginning of the year had me reading obituaries of about a half dozen people with whom I have had some sort of contact. When relatives came in to the Sun’s office to take care of the business of putting an obituary in the paper, I found myself sincerely putting in condolences.

I hoped my sounded sincere, but I knew they were hearing it constantly and most of the people that passed I didn’t know well.

I feel inadequate saying anything about a person’s passing since I have only attended four funerals in my entire life. My father, stepmother, Kirsten Campbell and Buck Hoem. Two in Texas and two in Saratoga.

I don’t have a lot of experience in what people say at times like this. Since two of them were my family members, I know what it is like to have hundreds of people coming and asking me if I was okay and usually say how sorry they were for the death of my loved one. I would nod my head and thank them because I knew all meant well, but I wanted my family back. Knowing they were gone out of my life, I felt so hollow. I hated I was expected to be accepting because they were in heaven.

My parents’ deaths happened within four years of each other and that was 20 years ago.

For quite a while, I was able to avoid funerals and that was fine by me.

Death is scary to me because it is the biggest mystery in life and I don’t know how to say to others, I know for sure what is going to happen. The best I can do is say honestly, they will be missed.

I don’t know if it was really a conscious effort on my part not to go to funerals, but it was not until Kirsten departed, that I felt compelled to attend a memorial service.

I was at a loss to say anything comforting to those who loved Kirsten. Sure, I attempted, but how does one really convey they understand the loss?

I have to point out, my father was absolutely sure of heaven and although he knew he would miss aspects of this life, he was positive he going to a better place.

I do feel blessed to have been exposed to his total belief knowing heaven is waiting.

Well … waiting for those who deserve to go. My father was extremely religious and strict in what he believed was a sin. Dad believed strongly those who sinned were kept out of heaven.

He more than once joked about me being a heathen and he couldn’t believe I was his son. We both used to laugh, but I know he was worried he would be in heaven and I wouldn’t.

His criteria for getting to heaven was pretty strict, so until the time comes, I can’t say for sure I will make the cut ... at least by his standards.

Still when it comes to hard cold reality, heaven is a matter of faith, not generally a place people come back to tell us about.

It works for me to have faith in heaven, but to a grieving person I don’t want to assume they will be comforted by words of heaven and that the person is in a better place. To me, the right thing to do, is say I am sorry for the loss.

I have to admit, I don’t usually think much about death and making it a topic for my column would not have been something I would have done a month ago.

However reading obituaries for the Sun as the new year started, I wanted some way to tell all the people who lost someone, I understood this was a bad time.

Losing a loved one just sucks. No other way of saying it. Whether it has been a long time coming or it is unexpected, one doesn’t have to look too hard to see how painful the time is for the people left behind.

I was going to scrap the column because the losses were so recent to these families and friends and I just didn’t have the words to say I really understood their loss.

Then Friday morning, I saw a flashing light on my landline phone machine. I figured it was family, some advertisement or a friend from overseas because most people contact me through my cell.

It was a family member. My cousin from Alabama, telling me his mother, my aunt, had passed away on Wednesday.

I am still taking it in. Aunt Sylvia (Siggie) was my mother’s older sister and she treated me like gold. It has been years since I have talked to her, but in my heart I remember the funny, beautiful and generous lady who spoiled me any chance my parents would let her have.

Looking at pictures I can see Aunt Siggie was insanely beautiful when she was younger and I remember her attractiveness being commented on by many, but my mother and my Aunt Vickie, the baby sister, were also stunners. So Aunt Siggie’s beauty is not what I remember when I think of her, but rather the warm embracing aunt who told me she loved me every time she saw me.

I used to go to Alabama every summer to visit the family there until I graduated college. I was always treated like a prince and wish I had the space to say how special these visits were. I can say, Aunt Siggie was one of the kindest people in my life.

I hate like hell she is gone­—and the fact I haven’t told her in years how much she meant to me.

So ironically, the subject matter I was going to write about in this column, I was so close to abandoning, has taken on new importance.

The beginning of this year has had some Carbon County residents lose loved ones and sadly, I can say I understand your loss.

I will never forget Aunt Siggie’s laugh and smile and it hurts she is not on Earth any longer.

I often take solace in thinking our loved ones are not really dead as long as we are alive to remember them. I hope anyone who has lost someone recently (or even not so recently) can take the same comfort in that thought.